Play On
by Alqualyne
Summary: Mel’s band is gone, her record label’s bankrupt, and she’s working for people that helped make her life a disaster. Add a mysterious gray eyed singer, Bruce Springsteen, and some covert ops, and you’ve got a rock retelling of the Duel!
1. Chapter 1

_The press release is coming out in a few hours, but I thought I should say it directly, from me, to all of you wonderful people who have loved us and our music. The Woods have broken up. It wasn't something Aric, Oria, Key and I were planning on doing or even wanted to do, but circumstances… you know._

_Counterfeit Records, which we founded just last year, has gone bankrupt. The blame lies solely with me. I made some bad decisions, hired some wrong people, and as a result we've been forced to shut down. I hope that we can reunite sometime in the future if our luck changes, and I hope that all of you can see us in concert sometime again._

_This blog will still continue; if you're really that interested in what happens to musicians when they're out of work, keep checking back to hear about my sure-to-be scintillating adventures_._ Unemployment! Guitars getting dusty! A 9-to-5 job! Sure to be dramatic. Thanks for all of your support over the years._ _Peace. –Mel T._

_---_

Meliara walked into the café just like she thought a fallen rock queen should. With her aviators, striped leggings and baggy torn-up Bowie shirt, she figured that her outfit should distract those in the grungy café who might recognize her blue-streaked hair and wonder if she was Mel T. of the Woods. She caught herself and amended her thoughts- the Mel T. of the now-_defunct_ Woods, thanks to a certain Mr. Debegri. She stopped mid-fume. Gingerly easing herself into a chair, she decided that she should give up her grudge. Surely it wasn't good for her karma.

But it sure helped soothe her outraged mind.

She was plotting different revenge plans when Bran walked in. She grinned at him as she drained the last of her mocha.

"Bran!" she shouted gleefully. More than a few patrons glanced her way.

He rolled his eyes as he sat down. "How many times do I have to tell you?" he asked patiently. "Bran is what you called me when you thought you were a clever six-year old. Now that you're an adult, you're completely capable of calling me Aric."

"Or I could just call you Bran," she retorted. He sighed.

"Fine. I love being named after a fiber," he replied dryly.

"You said you had some news?" Mel asked.

"Yeah, I got a job for us," he replied.

"Really?" she asked, puzzled. "You look so… happy."

"I'm sure your reaction will be less than pleasant."

"Why?" Mel asked suspiciously. "Right now, I'm willing to work at a Cheapo, as long as it involves music."

"There was a tech and roadie opening," he replied. "I figured I could do the roadie and you could do the tech."

"For who?" Mel asked, her eyes narrowed.

"Uh… well…" Bran rubbed the back of his neck. "The Midways."

"_What_?" Mel exclaimed. "No!"

"I took it already," Bran said quickly. "Mel, we need the money."

"No way," she said quickly. "I will take that job at the _gas station_ before working for the Midways."

"They pay a lot better than the gas station, Mel," Bran said patiently.

"Yeah, but the gas station didn't sell out to Merindar Records!" Mel retorted. "What about Sleater Kinney? Or Interpol? Burn it, I'll lug amps for The Polyphonic Spree, just not… them!"

"Sleater Kinney didn't need anybody, Interpol isn't touring right now, and… the Polyphonic Spree? I think their pep would kill you by the second show," Bran replied easily, stealing her mocha and frowning when he found it was empty.

"The _Midways_, Bran," she said pitifully, trying to stave off his rationality with her best puppy-dog eyes. "They killed off Counterfeit Records by switching to Merindar. They're the _reason_ the Woods don't exist anymore."

"You're conveniently leaving Debegri's role out of this," Bran retorted.

"Fine, Debegri _and_ the Midways murdered Counterfeit," Mel amended. "But that doesn't change anything."

"Mel, it's not like we're doing this for life," Bran said persuasively. "We just need the short-term money. Once we find a different job, we're out."

"I'll be checking the job postings every day," Mel muttered. Bran grinned.

"I take that to mean you're going to do it," he said cheerfully. Mel glowered at him, stuck her aviators back on, and left, making sure to slam the door loudly as she did so. Of course, she and Bran shared the same studio apartment, so it wasn't like she was walking out on him, but still. Fallen rock queens had to make big exits.

---

The Midways paid for Mel and Bran to fly out to Minneapolis, where they were kicking off their tour. Mel was silent the entire trip, her headphones on her ears, devotedly listening to Bruce Springsteen's encouraging and world-weary words. At the baggage claim, Bran glanced over at her iPod. He rolled his eyes.

"Bruce Springsteen," he said wearily. "For being a self-proclaimed rocker, you listen to such crap."

Mel yanked off her headphones and glared at him. "Don't insult the Boss," she said haughtily, grabbing her duffel off the carousel and heading for the door. She fingered her blue streaks wearily as she waited for Bran. _Techie_. What had the world come to?

A girl with a beat-up messenger bag was staring at her curiously, and Mel grew apprehensive. She fought the urge to look down at her clothes as the girl came over.

"Excuse me… but are you Mel T.?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, I am," Mel replied, smiling at the girl. "Are you a fan?"

"God, yes," the girl said fervently. "I can't believe the Woods broke up. I mean…"

"Yeah," Mel said, her face darkening. She still couldn't believe it either.

She signed a piece of paper for the girl and then foisted her off on Bran. Getting a cab, Mel let Bran handle the luggage and crawled into the backseat.

"Don't tell me you're still angry," Bran sighed as he got in beside her.

"I'm not angry," Mel said pensively. She reconsidered. "Well, actually, I am. I'm just pissed off that the Woods are gone, Counterfeit is bankrupt, and we're working for a band that helped it happen."

"Hey," Bran said softly. "Lots of bands sell out to the big labels. Don't blame it on the Midways. If anybody, it's Debegri's fault."

Mel frowned. "Debegri was a dumbass with ambition. I should have known it was a dangerous combination before I hired him."

"Mel, don't blame yourself. What Debegri did took everyone by surprise," Bran said, slumping on his seat and looking out the window. Mel gazed at him for a minute before doing the same.

"Yeah," she muttered. "I think the biggest surprise was that what he did was actually legal."

Bran laughed softly, and she felt better.

"Is the tour coming back around to L.A. anytime?" she asked with a frown. "I don't know how long we can depend on Key to hold our crap. I should have asked Oria, but she's barely managing with that waitress job and I felt bad to ask."

"Key's in a new band with the guitarist from Rilo Kiley," Bran replied. "I think he'll be able to hold on to everything. I looked at the schedule, and the West Coast is the last stop. We've got about three months of the Midwest and the East Coast."

"Bran…" she said uncertainly. "Isn't this a little quick? I mean, yesterday we were sitting at the coffeeshop and you were telling me and now we're leaving?"

Bran promptly hugged her. Although it was awkward, she was wordlessly comforted. "Thanks, Bran," she whispered.

"Whatever happens, Mel," he replied softly, "we'll face it together."

---

When he was sure Mel was asleep in the bed next to him, Bran slipped out of their room. The Midways' lead singer had told him to come to room 1216 _without_ his sister, and although the request was odd, Bran was sure that pissing off his boss on his first day was not the way to go.

The man who opened the door was taller than he was, which was surprising. His pale blond hair was long and fell into his gray eyes. A quick glance at Vidanric Shevraeth's face and rangy figure explained much of the Midways' newfound popularity.

"Hi, I'm Aric, the new roadie," Bran said, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets.

"I thought so," Vidanric replied. There was no pretense in his voice or arrogance in his posture, something that also surprised Bran. "Come in."

"Sorry for coming so late, Mr. Shevraeth," Bran said, walking into the luxurious suite. "Our plane just arrived a few hours ago and I had to wait until Mel fell asleep."

"No problem," Vidanric said, sprawling into a chair. "And call me Vidanric. We're the same age."

"We used to be from the same label, too," Bran said frankly, taking a seat. "Mel's not too happy about working for your band."

Vidanric looked over at him, his face inscrutable. "I can't really blame her," he said. "We helped bankrupt Counterfeit. Although, in all fairness, Debegri was the one who really brought it down."

Bran couldn't manage to hide his surprise. "It's interesting to hear you of all people say that," he said, wondering what Vidanric was trying to get at. First the summons, now what he was saying… he was sure this man had an ulterior motive, he just couldn't figure it out.

Vidanric smiled. "Heresy, I know," he said easily. "But nobody from Merindar Records is around. Anyway, the show is tomorrow…"

Bran listened to Vidanric explain what he and Mel would be doing, but his mind couldn't concentrate. Why would the man partially responsible for his label's downfall be admitting as much? And why did Bran's instincts tell him that Vidanric was to be trusted despite all evidence to the contrary?

"Your sister will be working with Nimiar, so it shouldn't be too stressful for her," Vidanric was saying and Bran snapped to attention.

"Nimiar? Do you mean Nee?" Bran asked curiously.

"Yeah, Nee," Vidanric said. "How do you know her?"

"She did tech and sound for us on our last two tours," Bran explained, grinning. "She's a genius." He realized belatedly that he had admitted he had been on tour. He and Mel had decided to keep that information low-key in their new jobs. "We used to play in a band," he explained hastily.

At this, Vidanric actually smiled. Bran blinked. "You think I didn't know who you were?" he asked, grinning. "Aric and Mel T. of the Woods. The entire tour is dying to meet you two. We're huge fans."

Bran thought this just a little odd coming from the man who had put them out of business, but he accepted the compliment with a nod. Vidanric continued talking about the tour until he glanced at the clock.

"Burn it, it's already three in the morning!" he exclaimed, surprised. "Sorry, I've kept you here forever." As they said their good-byes, Bran decided to puzzle over Vidanric's mystery later. Right now, he was dead tired and had to lug amps in a few hours. He went back to his room and fell asleep as soon as he hit the bed.

---

All Vidanric wanted to do was sleep, but of course that was fairly impossible when you had Russav Savona sleeping in the adjoining room. He was woken up by the Replacements blaring from the speakers and Savona grinning at him across the room.

"I fucking hate you, have I ever told you that?" Vidanric grumbled as he slowly got up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He walked over to the CD player and switched the CD. "It's way too early for Paul Westerberg, Russav."

Savona rolled his eyes when he heard the new music. "Bruce Springsteen. Of course," he said wryly. "For being a rock star, your music is wimpy."

Vidanric poked his head out of the bathroom and spoke around the toothbrush in his mouth. "The Boss is _not_ a wimp," he declared.

"Whatever," Savona replied dismissively. "The interview with _Rolling Stone_ came out today. Want to hear it?"

Vidanric groaned. "When we got into this, didn't we agree to _not_ get famous?" he asked. "I thought we all agreed that being an obscure indie band would help us a lot more than international stardom."

"Well, listen what they have to say," Savona replied. He started reciting. " 'The Midways, if you care to categorize them, fall midway' – ugh, what an awful pun - 'between My Chemical Romance and the Killers in terms of popularity.' Hey, I happen to think that we're cooler than the Killers."

"Russav, who cares? We're out in a few months, anyway," Vidanric called back.

"Well, while we're still here, I'd like to be better than the Killers," Russav retorted. "Brandon Flowers? What has he got on you? More eyeliner?"

"That, more talent, and more desire to actually _be_ in the business," Vidanric replied dryly. "I don't know how this got so out of hand."

"Well, _Rolling Stone_ seems to think we have potential," Russav replied. "This interview is fantastic. They loved you."

Vidanric came out of the bathroom and snatched the magazine. "Fine, you've got me. Let me read it."

**_The Midways: On Their Way Up_**

_The Midways, if you care to categorize them, fall midway between Panic! At The Disco and the Killers in terms of popularity. _

"You're right, that is an awful pun," Vidanric remarked. "I could write a better opening line than that." Savona nodded sagely.

_In terms of music, they're a chameleon._

_"Our music is divergent simply because each of us worships different types of music," Vidanric Shevraeth, the lead singer and guitarist, explains. "Savona's into 80s punk, Tamara loves alternative rock, and if you let Deric choose, he'd be listening to hip-hop 24/7."_

_So what kind of music does Shevraeth, the face of the band and its most enigmatic personality, favor?_

"Enigmatic personality?"

Savona laughed. "You're the mysterious indie rock child. Probably because you disappear after every show."

"I don't disappear," Vidanric said, frowning.

"Well, you're not with the groupies."

_He smiles slightly and shrugs. "I love stories," he says. "Anything with lyrics that tell me something."_

_At this, his more gregarious bandmate, Russav Savona, snorts. "What he's not telling you," he says, "is that he's a complete sucker for music like Bon Jovi and Bruce Springsteen."_

Vidanric winced. "There goes my music credibility," he remarked. "You had to tell her that, didn't you?"

Savona smirked. "I thought you didn't care?" Vidanric ignored him.

_The banter between Shevraeth and Savona, the lead guitarist, makes it clear that their friendship extends farther than the band's history. The two have been playing music since their teens. What's unclear, however, is the band's beginnings._

_The Midways began their career by signing with Counterfeit Records with virtually no history and no credentials. A year into a successful indie career, they switched abruptly to Merindar Records. With a second album and heavy radio play, the Midways have been rocketing up the charts._

_Asked about how they began and why Counterfeit signed them so readily, all the band members are evasive. Perhaps the best at giving vague answers is Shevraeth, who manages to avoid answering anything relating to himself or the band. Signing? "Mostly luck," he says shortly. When asked about his childhood, he smiles briefly. "You know, it was… childhood," is all he'll say. Life right now? "Living day to day," he remarks. Girlfriend? "No comment," is his reply._

_When asked about his rising status, he shrugs. "I was never meant to be the focus, and I think we're all disappointed that it's turning out that way. We'd like to be seen as a band, not a lead singer and some backup musicians," he says. But with his voice – not to mention that he can play the guitar, cello, violin, and piano masterfully and frequently plays all four during concerts– and his androgynous good looks, it seems a foregone conclusion that most of the media attention has been focused on Shevraeth._

"Androgynous good looks?" Vidanric asked indignantly. "I do _not_ look androgynous!"

"Well, you've got the skinny indie boy thing down perfectly," Savona remarked, looking like he was trying not to laugh. "You could model for Urban Outfitters."

Vidanric glared haughtily at him, then turned his attention back to the article.

_It also doesn't hurt that Tamara Chamadis, vocalist and bassist, is stunning – she readily admits that she used to model while in college – and Savona and percussionist Deric Orbanith are also easy on the eyes._

_Along with being photogenic, the Midways' eclectic sound has become incredibly popular, despite defying categorization._

_"Well, with "Reunion" we're more poppy," Savona muses, "And then "The Bass and the Movement" is definitely influenced by Deric's hip-hop love. Tamara spearheaded "D'Artagnan's Theme" because she loved the ballad aspect of it. It really changes from song to song. We do alternative, rock, hip-hop, and pop. It's really whatever we feel like."_

_Whatever type of music they play, the Midways clearly have a bright future ahead of them._

Vidanric snorted as he handed the magazine back to Savona. "Well, at least the picture of us is good," he said. "Even if the article was complete crap."

"You didn't see the individual profiles," Savona said. "They did a little box on each of us! I feel so special!" Vidanric rolled his eyes and peered at the small picture of him next to his box. He looked bored.

_**Deric Orbanith**_

_Age: 22_

_Instrument: Drums_

_Favorite Band: "The Fugees. They're so classic."_

_Superpower: "It'd be rad if I could fly. Could you imagine what you could do at concerts?"_

_**Tamara Chamadis**_

_Age: 26_

_Instrument: Bass_

_Favorite Band: "That's so hard. I could name a few: Right now, I'd have to say Stars, Atmosphere and Citizen Cope are at the top of the list…"_

_Tidbit: Went to Columbia, where she met Shevraeth and Savona. So what did they major in? Tamara admits that she was an English major, Savona was an Economics major, and Shevraeth majored in… biomedical engineering and linguistics. Hardcore._

_**Russav Savona**_

_Age: 26_

_Instrument: Guitar_

_Favorite Band: "The Misfits. Easily."_

_Why is it called the Midways? "Well, that reason is top secret, so I could tell you… but you know the rest."_

_**Vidanric Shevraeth**_

_Age: 27_

_Instrument: Guitar, cello, violin, keyboard_

_Favorite Band: "Well, now that Savona's let out my shameful secret… the classics, like Simon and Garfunkel, U2, Bob Dylan, and yes, Bruce Springsteen."_

_How did he learn four instruments? "Well, if you knew my parents… I think the idea was for me to be well-rounded, so they got me violin lessons. I got obsessed, and soon enough I picked up the cello, and then the piano… Savona taught me the guitar in college. When I have more time, I want to learn the mandolin."_

Vidanric rolled his eyes. "Great. I'll bet you ten bucks that some smartass at the show manages to mention my major tonight," he said dryly.

"Well, it's not everyday a biomedical engineer with a minor in linguistics ends up playing at First Avenue," Savona replied. "We've got to be there at four, so we've got time to waste."

"We have work to do," Vidanric called from the closet. "Or did the rock-star life seduce you into forgetting that?"

Savona winced. "Always business," he chided. "We're playing at First Avenue! The arena of Atmosphere! Prince! Purple Rain!"

Vidanric winced. "Purple Rain is one movie I could happily never see again," he said. "We have to plan our next step."

"Oh, just have Tamara figure it out," Savona replied cheerily. "Come on! Let's go check out this city!"

Vidanric rolled his eyes. "Go ahead. I'll stay here and actually do my _job_."

"Nice try at guilting me," Savona said smugly, "but it won't work. You can stay in here and be _laaame_ while I go and paint the town blue."

Vidanric raised his eyebrows. "The saying is paint the town _red_, Savona," he replied wryly.

"Whatever. Are you coming, or not?"

Vidanric huffed. "Fine," he said shortly. "But if we're fired, it's all your fault."

Savona grinned gleefully. "_Darling_," he said dramatically. "We're good-looking, we're rock stars, and we have a song in the Top 40. We're untouchable!"

Danric couldn't help but laugh.

---

**Note:** Hi, I'm back! This fic is… insane, basically. It popped into my head as I was trying to write a story about Alaerec… needless to say, the idea of Mel being in a band and Vidanric being the ultimate indie band boy wouldn't leave my head until I started writing. Unfortunately due to my obsession with music, this fic will reference a LOT of bands and songs. If you've got questions, just ask me, I love talking about music! We'll see how much this storyline actually sticks to the original one- as you see, Debegri, Merindar, Bran, Nee, Oria, Vidanric, Savona, Deric, and Tamara have ALL made appearances or been referenced to… we'll see where it goes. If you read it, please review and tell me what you think! Next chapter: Why is Vidanric being so mysterious about this "job" of his? What did Debegri do? Will Nee show up? What kind of music, exactly, do the Midways play? Look for answers with the next installment. :) –Alqualyne


	2. Chapter 2

Mel woke up at two in the afternoon. Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she stumbled into the shower. When she got out, she noticed that Bran was nowhere to be found.

"Fine," she huffed. "Ditch me." She took her time with her hair and makeup, armoring herself for the first day of her new life.

The hotel was sleek and modern, and Mel felt uncomfortable waiting for the elevator with her battered sneakers and torn-up messenger bag. A businessman raised his eyebrows slightly as she got into the elevator, but she studiously ignored him the entire way down. _You're miserable in your job anyway_, she sneered silently- unfair, maybe, but the thought bolstered her. Then she remembered that she was probably going to be miserable in _her_ new job.

Getting to First Avenue was easy, and she enjoyed Minneapolis as she walked down Hennepin Avenue. She liked the laid-back Midwestern personality of the city, but she kept a tight hold on her messenger bag and chewed her lip as she walked. As soon as she got to the club, she would probably be meeting her new bosses.

She had never met any members of the Midways because Galdran had signed them on, reassuring Bran and her that they would be big. _And we trusted him_, she thought darkly. He _had_ been right about that… but they only hit it big once they moved- with Galdran- to the big record label.

She took a deep breath. The Woods might be gone, but music still flowed through her veins. She had been _born_ to play guitar, to sing at smoke-filled clubs. This was just a temporary break.

Reassuring herself with that thought, she ducked inside First Avenue through the side entrance. She had played here with the Woods every time she had passed through Minneapolis, and if she went to the left side of the building, she could see the silver star with their name on it. Adjusting her eyes to the new light, she headed towards the stage. Her throat got tight as she got closer. Though she swore she wouldn't cry, she could feel it coming. She could remember the exact outfit she wore when she was here- that vintage miniskirt with striped leg warmers and her favorite black tank top. She could remember the exact layout of the stage, where Bran had laughed out loud in the middle of the song because everything was going right and it had been _magical_.

She turned abruptly and got out as fast as she could. Leaning against the brick wall in the cold sunlight, she breathed in and out slowly.

"You okay?" a voice asked, and her eyes snapped open. A tall man was leaning against the wall beside her, iPod headphones in his ears, eyes closed. Ash blonde hair, his face all sharp angles- she immediately recognized him from a promo photo. She couldn't remember his name, but she remembered his band: the Midways.

"I'm fine," she said carefully, trying to keep her temper under control. This was, after all, her new boss.

He opened his gray eyes and studied her coolly for a few moments, before taking out an earphone and offering her his hand. "I'm Vidanric," he said.

She shook his hand as quickly as possible. "I'm– Meliara," she said abruptly. She was about to say Mel T., because that was her old name, the one she used by habit, but that wasn't her anymore, now that the Woods were gone.

"Meliara?" he asked lazily. "You don't hear that very often."

"Well, yeah, and I meet a Vidanric in every city," Mel replied. Damnit. She didn't mean to get all smartass on him. But he just laughed, and she noticed that his eyes crinkled.

"I assumed the Mel part of your stage name was short for Melanie, or something like that," he said, surprising her. How did he know that? "My mistake."

"I'm Meliara now," she said shortly. She knew she would start crying again if she went in, so she stayed, wishing Vidanric would simply leave so she could calm down.

"You don't go by Mel T. anymore?" he asked casually.

"Mel T. was for when I was still in a band," she said shortly. She hated his relaxed posture against the wall, the easy way he said his words. She hated it all the more because of the feeling of a coiled spring inside her stomach, the tension in her shoulders and stiff way she was holding her jaw. But she couldn't resist saying more. "That changed quickly when your band decided to cop out of your record deal with Counterfeit."

He looked at her silently for a long time, and she was wondering whether he was even going to respond when he finally spoke. "I make the business decisions in the band. So don't blame my bandmates."

"Business decision?" She struggled to keep the bitterness and hate out of her voice. "I guess honor doesn't mean shit anymore." She left before she could see the expression on his face.

She found Bran after she had swallowed her tears, blinking furiously. She opened the door to the tech booth to find her brother with a familiar face.

"NEE!" she screamed. She rushed to hug the woman. "Oh my… this is so great! Why are you here?"

Nee laughed, more composed than Mel, as always. "I got hired as their tour techie lead," she said. "It's great that we're all together again!"

Mel smirked at Bran, who flushed. She might be oblivious most of the time, but her brother's feelings were always transparent to her. She wondered if Nee would catch on soon. "Yeah, it's awesome," she said. "I'm your helper, I guess, although I don't think I'll be all that helpful."

"I'll stick you on lights," Nee said, frowning. "Don't get me wrong, I love that you two are here, but you weren't really… necessary."

Bran laughed. "I love being called unnecessary," he joked.

"Oh no!" Nee looked mortified. "You are, it's just that I managed the tech booth fine and it isn't like the roadies are struggling with the equipment… but no matter. It's _great_ that you're both here."

"I'm glad you guys are too," Mel replied, grinning. "I don't think I could survive on my own. I just met Vidanric… _ugh_."

Nee looked confused, while Bran raised his eyes to the ceiling. "What did you say?" he asked resignedly.

* * *

"We might have a problem," Vidanric said with hesitation that night. Tamara lifted a delicate eyebrow from the mirror of the dressing table.

"Yes?" she inquired.

"Meliara doesn't like me very much," he admitted. There was a silence. "Actually, to be perfectly honest," he amended, "she loathes me."

"Oh, that's perfect," Deric sighed, sinking down into the sofa. "The girl has the financial information we need and she doesn't like you. Thousands of girls across the world would willingly shag you, but the one we _need_ to like you doesn't."

"It's a talent of mine," Vidanric replied dryly. "They just meet me and the magic's gone."

The morning's meeting with Meliara Tlanth had not gone well. She had taken him by surprise when he was outside, taking a break from the chaos of his new life. He had attempted to salvage the situation, but it was inevitable that she would hate him. He wondered what she would say if she knew he had been listening to her band's music when she burst outside, eyes full of tears.

"Well, maybe we could try Savona," Tamara said. Only Vidanric noticed the tightness around her lips.

"Well, I tried to work it so she thought the band signed to Merindar because I forced you all to," Vidanric said. "So hopefully she'll think the rest of you sympathetic to Counterfeit."

"Oh, good, you make yourself into more of a villain," Savona said. "Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?"

"She already dislikes me," Vidanric said impatiently. "I needed to give one of you all an in. Without her willing information, we don't have any concrete evidence against Galdran."

"So we'll all have to treat you like some sort of leper while she's around?" Deric questioned. He winked at Vidanric. "That won't require too much acting."

Vidanric chucked a pillow at him, which he deftly caught and dropped on the couch as he left the room. "Couldn't we just explain the situation to her?" Tamara asked mildly.

Vidanric thought about it. "She might be too much of a risk," he said finally. "She's a little… volatile, if you haven't noticed."

"I noticed the Spin interview in which she declared that major record labels have ruined music as an art form," Tamara commented, smiling a little. "I'm sure that conversation would fall under the general 'volatile' category."

"That opinion will surely endear her to us, big record label sellouts," Vidanric pointed out darkly. "It's a stupid opinion, though. They harm music but they're a necessary evil."

"We're not getting into a philosophy of music discussion right now," Tamara said impatiently. "Anyway, I've got to get ready. We've got forty minutes until we're on stage."

"Do you have the set list?" Vidanric asked. "I swore it was around here somewhere."

Savona held a piece of paper. "This one? Don't worry, it's the same we played in Omaha and San Fran. We've got it."

"Maybe we should have played a larger venue," Tamara said, biting her lip. "This sold out in a day."

"It's First _Avenue_," Vidanric said in exasperation. "Am I the only one who's trying to keep a little integrity here while we sell our souls to the devil? We're trying to help the music industry, not help rich executives earn even more money by doing arena concerts."

Tamara rolled her eyes. "Who sounds like the music idealist now?" she asked. "I'm just saying… if we're selling out, we might as well go all out and do it in style." She left haughtily. Savona rolled his eyes.

"How much longer do you think we'll be undercover?" he asked contemplatively, staring at the ceiling.

"That, my dear cousin, depends on how much one Mel T. is taken by you," Vidanric said, grinning.

"Oh, we'll be done in a week then," Savona said airily. "Has Al, as you so charmingly called our boss, come up with an exit plan?"

"Break-up," Vidanric said moodily. "But we won't be able to go undercover or do any field work for awhile. We have too much of a high profile."

"Perhaps," Savona said with hesitation, as if it had just occurred to him, "We shouldn't have gotten so big."

"Wait until The Midways split 'for artistic reasons'," Danric replied darkly. "Blending back into the "civilian" life will take a bit of work."

"It's all your fault," Savona declared as he got up and moved towards the door. "You wrote 'Camera One', after all."

"You're the one who came up with the music video," Vidanric retorted, recalling the raw footage and film noir style that made it so popular.

"Still. Golden son of Hollywood? Trophy wife of Palisades? It's your fucking autobiography," Savona said, then shut the door.

Danric stared moodily at the door, thinking of redheads and tawny-haired boys with too much talent and anguish… Savona was right. It _was_ his fucking autobiography. But he had dealt with the past, and it was over. He picked up his guitar and plucked at some chords absently, waiting to perform for yet another audience, for yet another night.

* * *

Meliara stood with Nee at the sound booth in the back, watching the myriad of people entering the black cavern of First Avenue. There were the expected teenage girls, surely drawn by Vidanric's looks. But there were also a few black kids, as well as what looked like punk high school dropouts. Mixed in were random suburbanites who looked too well-dressed to be college kids. Mel eyed the diverse crowd curiously.

"Interesting bunch of people," she commented. Nee looked out and grinned.

"It's always like this," she said, adjusting a few knobs. "They mess around with so many genres they're sure to attract fans from at least a few."

"What genres?" asked Mel, genuinely curious. Nee threw her a look.

"You've never heard their album?" she asked.

Mel blushed and admitted that she hadn't.

"They gravitate towards pop-rock," Nee explained. "But they threw in some folk, hip-hop, punk… it's a bit all over the place, even within a song. You'll see."

"Do they pull it off?" Mel asked skeptically.

"They come incredibly close," Nee said, grinning. "And then Vidanric's face and Savona's charms tricks everyone into thinking that they have."

Mel laughed. "I'm looking forward to this," she said, and was surprised to realize that she meant it.

The opening band was clearly manufactured, the lead singer trying for a hipster cool. Mel rolled her eyes as they went from one cliché song to the next.

"Well, at least that's done," she said with relief, when they finally walked off the stage. She perched on a stool, cotton firmly in her ears, monitoring the lights. Nee was protective of her sound controls, so Mel's duty fell to changing the lighting when she felt like it, not an incredibly difficult job.

"They're starting with Bullet and a Target," Nee said. "Hip-hop. Deric raps while Danric takes over the drumming."

"He drums?" Mel asked, scowling.

"He plays, like, seven instruments," Nee said, rolling her eyes. "All well."

The stage darkened, and Mel heard a strong drum beat emerging out of the black. She resisted tapping her foot.

A strong voice started as the Mel gradually turned on the spotlights.

_ Mr. Dalai Lamas  
Another sister's shootin' heroin tomorrow  
Amputees in Freetown, Sierra Leones  
The church wasn't honest  
The state put the youth in a harness…_

Mel found herself tapping the beat with her heel unconsciously. She started to move to the irresistible beat.

_And what you done is  
Put yourself between a bullet and a target_

"How do magazines _classify_ this band?" Mel yelled to Nee. She shrugged.

"They don't!" she yelled back, smiling.

The song ended to raucous applause, and Deric gave a dramatic bow.

"At the risk of sounding cliché," Savona said from his spot on the stage, grinning at the crowd, "it's pretty fucking awesome to be playing at First Ave." Mel noticed the practiced switch as Deric moved back to drums, and Vidanric strapped on a… she squinted. No way. It couldn't be.

"Prince, The Replacements, Soul Asylum…" Vidanric said, stepping up to the microphone. The cheers grew louder. Mel gaped. He had a cherry red, absolutely _gorgeous_ Fender Esquire. The guitar that Bruce Springsteen, the Boss himself favored. No fucking way. She was infuriated and jealous at the same time, and glared at him for a good minute.

"…and we were kind of wondering, when we came here, what the protocol for getting our own silver star was," Savona took over, finishing Danric's sentence. "After all, that wall outside looks a bit crowded." Mel found herself smiling. Points for stage presence, she thought, as she absently adjusted the lights.

"Apparently, we don't get it until after the concert," Vidanric replied dryly. "I guess it's an insurance policy, to make sure we don't get the star and run."

"So let's get going!" Deric yelled from the drumset, and Tamara started playing the keyboard and the band launched into another song.

Looking at the set list Nee held, she saw the title: _Your Ex-Lover Is Dead_. She shook her head. They could go from Deric rapping about bullets to Savona singing "…_and all of that time, you thought I was sad, I was trying to remember your name_…" Tamara sang the next verse and they sang to each other in a perfect point and counterpoint.

As they progressed through the set list, Mel couldn't help but be impressed. They were too slick for her tastes, to be sure, but the audacious diversity of their songs was inspiring. After the orchestral song that Tamara sang, they launched into a rock song about medication with a driving bass and Savona's dry baritone, then all chimed in for a folk song about traveling.

For the next few songs, she watched the crowd. They were entranced by the easy charm and camaraderie of Savona and Vidanric, loved Tamara's haughty grace, and laughed at Deric's sheer exuberance.

"VIDANRIC, SHOW US SOME BIOMEDICAL ENGINEERING SKILLS!" a voice called out as the band was switching guitars between songs. Vidanric looked with exasperation at the crowd, and then smiled wryly at Savona. He stepped up to the microphone and held a hand out to Savona.

"I got to read that interview this morning," he announced. Mel wondered what he was talking about. "And I bet Savona that some smartass would mention my major sometime tonight. And what do you know… he owes me some money."

The crowd laughed, and Mel marveled at how well Vidanric could act onstage. She could see the slight exaggeration of his actions, the careful phrasing of his casual sentences. He was as much as an actor as a musician.

He struck a few poignant chords, and the crowd screamed loudly. Savona began a strong and steady bass line and Mel listened to the quiet power of Vidanric's voice.

_The sandy-haired son of Hollywood  
Lost his faith in all that's good  
Closed the curtains, unplugged the clock  
Hung his clothes on the shower rod  
But he never got undressed  
And no, he never made a mess_

The crowd, quiet for this opening stanza, joined in. Mel saw a few cell phones open, waving back and forth above the crowd.

_It's funny how life turns out  
The odds of faith in the face of doubt  
Camera One closes in  
The soundtrack starts  
The scene begins  
You're playing you now…_

Entranced, Mel looked at Danric at the microphone, his eyes closed, his fingers finding the powerful and simple chords. This, she decided- _this_ song wasn't an act. As she dimmed the lights onstage, he opened his eyes and looked straight at her. She sensibly reminded herself that bands could never see anybody from the stage, simply because of the bright lights focusing on them, but she didn't break eye contact.

_The trophy wife of Palisades  
Whose yearbook beauty never fades  
Sits and watches the sea fold in  
And wonders what might have been_ (Mel remembered, suddenly, the morning her life fell apart and she had taken a bottle of wine to the beach at five in the morning and got drunk watching the sun rise and the waves crash.)  
_If she could ever have the chance  
Would she do it all again?_

He finally looked down at his guitar, pieces of his white-blond hair falling into his eyes, and Mel was relieved and disappointed. Suicide, regret… "the odds of faith in the face of doubt"… Vidanric (and she was sure he was the one who wrote the song) had crafted a masterpiece. She crossed out the labels of actor and musician in her head and replaced them: poet.

And it was all too easy, she remembered nastily as the crowd cheered, to forget that he was responsible for ruining her own dreams. Sitting in the dark, she bit her lip hard and did her best to ignore him for the rest of the concert.

* * *

**A/N**: More music! The set list is below; I decided to take random artists' songs and pretend that they were The Midways. All of them are GREAT songs, so I totally encourage you to go buy them all on iTunes. Anyway, just a few comments- one, thanks for all the reviews! Two, I know it's weird that I stuck all these characters in modern day, but I warned you- this is crack!fic. I realize that I probably should have changed their names, too, but I didn't want to mess with them too much. Yes, they're weird names for modern society, but some of them adapted okay (Aric, Mel) and the others... well, they are what they are. I also kept "Burn it!" because it seemed like something a hipster would come up with and use as a cool new phrase :) Three, I hoped you liked Minneapolis! I live and go to school in Minneapolis, and I wanted to show my love for it and First Avenue (Purple Rain, anyone?) by sticking them in this fic. Lastly... please review and tell me what you think!

**Set List**:  
"Bullet and a Target" (Citizen Cope)  
"Your Ex-Lover Is Dead" (Stars)  
"Evil" (Interpol)  
"Traveling III" (Dar Williams)  
…  
"Camera One" (Josh Joplin Group) 


	3. Chapter 3

_Temporary battles can take up half your life –Stars, Btches in Tokyo_

Vidanric knew it would be a bad night as soon as Tamara had her fourth drink. The man who bought it for her wore a blazer with jeans and a concert T-shirt, and Vidanric took a shot of whiskey as she draped her arm across his shoulder and smiled seductively at whatever he murmured into her ear.

He took another shot as he watched Savona notice, eyes murderous as he spun records with more ferocity. The show had been good that night, but Savona had handed his pick to a brunette from the crowd who had followed them to the after-party, and now Tamara was getting her revenge.

It was an old routine, but it was always intense and messy, and Vidanric hated watching it. He considered leaving, but Savona had just handed off the turntables to Deric and was moving towards the bar, so he resigned himself to his usual role of mediator.

"Want a drink?" he asked as Savona pushed through the crowd and drew near.

"I'm going to fucking kill her," Savona growled.

"Have a whiskey first," Vidanric suggested mildly, pushing the drink into his friend's hand. Savona got mellow with alcohol, and although Vidanric didn't want to make his friend an alcoholic, he was too tired to deal with drama tonight.

"Who the fuck is he?" Savona said after downing the whiskey without wincing.

"I don't know," Vidanric replied wearily. "She's trying to make you mad. Let it go."

Savona grabbed another shot viciously. "I don't even know where that girl from the show_is_," he hissed. "Tamara's just a vindictive bitch."  
Vidanric said nothing, but noticed that Tamara tossed a glance over to Savona as she guided the man to the dance floor.

"How long has this been going on?" Savona asked angrily. "We're not teenagers anymore."

"You guys…" Danric paused. "Never mind. You never listen to me anyway."

"You know what?" Savona downed another shot. "We can both play at this."

"_Not_ a good idea," Vidanric said sharply.

"It is, if it helps us with our jobs, too," Savona retorted, and then gave Danric a savage smile. "You said we needed that label's finances from Mel T.? I'll get it."

Vidanric watched in stunned silence as Savona started sauntering over to where Meliara, her brother, and Nee were sitting. Nee and Aric were talking with each other and Mel was staring off into space, apparently lost in thought. Her hair was much longer than current indie fashion dictated, and it fell down her back, the bright blue streaks mingling with the red-brown that glinted in the low lights. With a grudging eye towards fashion, he admired the way she paired a sweater vest and white button-down with jean shorts and fishnets. It was a little too audacious, but on Meliara it somehow worked. Savona leaned against the booth's back and said something. She jumped, startled, but laughed a little. Her reply had Savona grinning and Mel arching her eyebrows. Vidanric winced and then looked to the dance floor to find Tamara glaring at the two, and defiantly pulling her admirer even closer.

"Oh, _shit_," he finally said, and went looking for some more alcohol.

With every drink he grimly swallowed, his world only got worse. After a few songs, Tamara took the man's hand and coyly led him out of the club. Savona retaliated by draping his arm around Mel's shoulders and whispering something in her ear that made her double over with laughter. Vidanric buried his head in his arms at the bar and tried to forget his world.

"_Now_ what's wrong?" Vidanric looked blearily up at the sound of Deric's cheerily exasperated voice. He dimly registered that the music had stopped and the din of the club had lessened; looking around, he saw that the dancers were slowly leaving, some throwing him curious looks.

"Everything," he replied shortly, trying to find blue-streaked hair or Savona's tall figure. "Have you seen Savona?"

"Yeah, he left a little while ago," Deric replied, plopping down and draining the rest of Vidanric's glass.

"With anybody?"

"Yeah, with Mel," Deric replied. He raised an eyebrow. "Is he getting some… information?"

Vidanric ignored his pun as he tried to extricate his cell phone from his pocket. Savona wasn't usually stupid, but with Tamara's exit tonight and a few drinks…

"Yeah," Savona said.

"Where are you?" Danric all but yelled into the phone.

"Back at the hotel. Where are you?"

"Please tell me you're in your room alone."

"I am in my room alone."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Alright, I'll be there in a few." Danric shut his cell phone and looked at Deric. "Maybe _everything_ isn't wrong."

"Let me know tomorrow morning. I don't want you to ruin my night."

He grinned at Deric and left, making it back to hotel with the help of a taxi and a back door to avoid some fans he spotted at the entrance. He was thinking that perhaps Savona didn't do more than just flirt and maybe get some information when he heard the screaming from Tamara's room. He stopped in the hallway, debated his options, then wearily headed towards her door.

_ "What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you so messed up in the head that handing over a pick means I'm cheating?"  
_Vidanric entered the room to find Tamara hurling an iPod at Russav's head. He ducked it easily before it shattered against the wall, but it was the last straw. Savona stormed across the room and grabbed Tamara's arms as he shoved her towards the wall.

"_Are you capable of being a normal human being?_" he roared. "_You can't decide what you want out of me and then expect me to follow every time you change your mind!_"

"Russav." Vidanric barely raised his voice, but it carried in the silence following Savona's bellow. Savona looked over and immediately took his hands off Tamara.

Vidanric watched in silence as Savona stormed out of the room and Tamara slid to the floor against the wall, staring unseeing straight ahead.

"Did he hurt you?" Tamara shook her head mutely. Vidanric hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the kitchen and filled up a glass of water. Crouching next to Tamara, he handed it over and lifted her chin. Tamara's impossibly blue eyes glistened with tears, but Vidanric knew from experience that she would, out of sheer pride, not let any of them fall.

"Will you be okay?" he asked softly, and she nodded again before jerkily getting up and walking into the bathroom. He stared at the closed door for a few moments before leaving her room quietly.

He knew it was their worst fight that he'd ever witnessed, but he failed to anticipate the fallout. He walked into their latest concert venue the next afternoon to find Russav and Mel sitting onstage and strumming guitars together. Occasionally, Savona would brush some of Mel's hair back and lean close and tell her something. Mel would laugh and Danric's gut would twist. He went backstage to find Tamara oddly calm. He realized why two hours later in rehearsal when she deliberately would come in early on Russav's solo. Vidanric closed his eyes and concentrated on singing the words, but the music was wrong. Tamara was clever enough to keep the disruptions subtle, but they threw Russav off and the band had never sounded worse.

The dressing room that night was silent and tense; even Deric had given up on chatter and was listening to his iPod. Vidanric skimmed through the set list and tried to ignore Russav's absence. When he finally strolled in ten minutes before they were due to go on, Danric motioned him out of the room.

"Where were you?"

"Chill, Danric. I was hanging out with Mel," Russav replied calmly, lounging against the wall and drawing out a cigarette.

Vidanric was silent for a moment. "Why?" he finally asked.

Russav regarded him quizzically. "Because we need information from her?"

Vidanric breathed out slowly. "Fine," he replied tersely and went back into the room, wondering why he felt so angry with his best friend.

And then the article was published.

_**Domestic Disturbances: Trouble Hits The Midways Tour**_

_They've denied romantic rumors, but anyone who's seen Tamara Chamadis and Russav Savona of the Midways sing "Your Ex-Lover Is Dead" on tour has noticed the electric chemistry between the pair. Now sources report that not only is there a relationship between the pair, it's ended- with a crash._

_Guests at the Meridian Hotel report hearing a loud, vocal fight between the two last week when they stopped in Vancouver. "They were screaming at each other," an eyewitness reports. "And then Vidanric Shevraeth went into the room. We heard a huge crash of something hitting the wall and then Savona stormed out."_

_Could the elusive lead singer also be entangled in a possible romantic triangle in the group? It might be that Savona, lead guitarist, has given up; witnesses have spotted him spending some quality time with a roadie on the tour._

* * *

The last concert had been the worst Mel had seen from the Midways. Tonight they were playing Chicago, and she wondered if the tension she had seen onstage would still be there. Her cell phone buzzed as she was setting up the soundboard.

_1450 North Racine Avenue. I'll be waiting at midnight- you'll love this._

She slipped her phone back into her pocket with a sigh. She wasn't sure what game Savona was playing, but she wasn't entirely convinced with his flirtatious banter and the lingering looks he gave her. Everything was just too… calculated. After reading the gossip article Nee had shown her about the band's romantic tribulations, Mel wondered how much she was just being used for revenge.

If she had to hazard a guess, she would say completely.

And God knows how Vidanric Shevraeth was involved in this mess; more than once when talking to Russav, she had caught him studying her. His gaze was direct but unreadable, and it threw her off. She methodically set up the rest of the stage, her fingers lingering a little too long on Vidanric's main guitar- she had had one like this cherry red Fender, but then bankruptcy had happened.

Perhaps Vidanric and Russav were involved in some fight over Tamara. Mel could see why; Tamara was stunning in a way Mel had previously thought impossible, with her inky hair spilling across her shoulder and her vividly blue, heavily lashed eyes. But she wasn't sure; they seemed to be good friends and even though Mel could sense something was strained between them, she still glimpsed them laughing and talking together.

She finished setting up the stage and headed backstage, stretching her arms as she walked. She left her laptop with her messenger bag, and she had enough time to write a quick blog post before dinner and then the concert. As she neared the storage room, though, she heard familiar voices: Russav and Vidanric. Without thinking, she slowed down and quieted her step.

"…don't like how you're going about this, Russav. I'd rather find some other way," she heard Vidanric say.

"We _have_ to get that information, Dan," Russav protested. "If it tells us what we think it does, then we've got all the evidence we need! And since you said we can't get an authorization to search for it and clue her in to what's going on, this-"

"-let's not talk about this here," Vidanric cut in. "Come on, let's go grab dinner before the show, we can talk out some options there."  
Mel looked around frantically for a door to duck into and hide, but thankfully the two decided to walk down the hallway away from her. She waited for a good five minutes before venturing out again.

She retrieved her laptop while playing over the conversation she had overheard. What information did they need? From whom? And why were they talking about getting an authorization to search?

What were the Midways involved in? The only suspicious event of their career had been their abrupt switch from Counterfeit to Merindar Records… was it something related to that? She switched on her computer and started to write, her mind still preoccupied with the strange conversation.

_So a lot of you readers asked what exactly happened. I'm sorry about how unclear my last post was; I was still feeling the impact of what had happened. Well- I still am, but maybe I can clarify things a little._

_So: I hired Mr. Debegri to manage day-to-day operations. I was a little overwhelmed and stressed out from running a label, and he had tons of experience and talked sincerely (I thought) about what we should do with Counterfeit Records. For a month, it was awesome. He signed a band (which I shall not name, because unlike with Debegri, I'm not sure how culpable they are) that he convinced me would be great. I got to listen to unsigned bands and do all the stuff I love while Debegri handled the stuff I hated: financial transactions, red tape, paperwork._

_The band got bigger and we were pretty excited. I let Debegri put more money into them, but I trusted him to still be fiscally responsible. Then Debegri- with no notice, no explanation- left to go work at Merindar Records, taking his band (now legitimately hot) with him. In the aftermath, we discovered the complete extent of his betrayal._

_Debegri had sunk all our money into making the band big. And they were, but now they were gone, because Debegri took out the loyalty clause in their contract- and I failed to catch the omission. So Debegri had been planning this move for a long time, and in my complete stupidity, I failed to notice._

_So no money, and no band making us any money. Counterfeit Records went bankrupt, and with no label, the Woods have gone on indefinite hiatus. Key is in a new band which is awesome (go check out his page!) and Oria is exploring her opportunities. Hopefully she'll be up and playing her guitar in no time._

_Me and Aric? We are… working for a band now. Odd, really. I was always a member of the band. But now, I'm a techie, sitting in the sound and light booth, adjusting the spotlight on the guitarist or changing the color of the lights from a clear yellow to a dramatic blue._

_Honestly- it sucks. But I need the work now that Counterfeit's bankrupt and Aric convinced me (go leave nasty comments at his blog, please. Not that he ever checks, or updates…) Well, Debegri got his way. He defects and takes his band with him, effectively bankrupting us. I _knew_ I should have paid attention in that business class I took when I was in college! Unfortunately, it was on Monday mornings and I tended to fall asleep._

_To all the kiddies out there—major in something useful like economics or accounting instead of comparative literature (way to go, Mel.)_

_Scratch that. I'm just being emo… major in what you love. I might be pissed as all hell and my record company might be bankrupt, but I was the one who fell asleep in business class. And my dissertation on the Lost Generation? If I may say so myself, stellar. If anybody needs to know anything about the psychology of Gertrude Stein after World War I and how it affected Hemingway and Gide… I'm totally your girl. Peace._

_-Mel T._

Vidanric grimaced as he left Mel's blog, noting the comments that fans left in vehement support of her (and many calling Galdran and Debegri all sorts of nasty names.) She didn't name the band in an attempted noble gesture, but anybody could look it up, or even read it in their_Rolling Stone_ interview: it was the Midways.

He had been reading her blog for a while now, soon after he had become a fan of their music. He had heard _of_ the Woods long before he had actually bought their music; they were the darlings of the L.A. indie scene, lauded by Pitchfork and Spin while still maintaining a small, devoted following.

When he was researching the cover he and the others were planning to take, he finally bought their music. They sounded like a polished bar band; rock 'n roll and big guitar riffs blended with Mel T.'s delicate voice that at times turned into a downright snarl.

He had been looking up the founders of Counterfeit, where Debegri had gone after some suspicious business dealings with other music labels and unsigned bands. What he ended up doing was spending the rest of the afternoon listening to the Woods' ferocious music with a constant ache of guilt that wouldn't go away. Even then, he knew that the bankruptcy of Counterfeit- and however that affected the Woods- was inevitable in their operation.

According to her Wikipedia entry, Mel T. (pseudonym for Meliara Tlanth) was the outspoken lead singer for the band The Woods. Instead of signing with a major label, they went with Sub Pop records and the brother-and-sister duo of the band, Mel T. and Aric Tlanth, eventually formed their own label, Counterfeit Records.

For a girl who claimed to have slept through business class, Ms. Tlanth seemed to have managed Counterfeit Records well for nearly a year. But then she had hired Debegri, and it had all gone to hell.

And now she was here, and she hated him. If he thought about it, he couldn't really blame her.

"Oy! What're you looking at?" Savona had come up behind him. He shut the lid of the laptop carefully and turned around.

"Nothing, really," he replied, keeping his tone casual. Savona was dressed in a jacket. "Where are you off to?" The concert had been better than the last few; Tamara had decided to stop coming in early, and while the tension between them all still didn't help, at least the technical mistakes had been corrected.

"Meeting Mel at that diner/bar we went to the last time we were in town," Savona replied.

"Oh."

"I'll try to get back to her room and get to her laptop," he said breezily, not noticing Vidanric's stiffness. "Don't worry. It'll be fine."

They had talked about possible options during lunch, but even Vidanric had been forced to admit that there was no better way to get Mel's information than Russav. He was charming, witty, handsome, and above all, persuasive.

He knuckled his eyes and wondered why he got so annoyed whenever Russav spent time with Mel. Hopefully by tonight, though, Russav could get it without compromising himself. Danric had forced Russav to agree not to cross the line just to get information.

And once they had that information… they could get around to putting Debegri in jail.

* * *

"Are you sure you heard them right?" Bran asked dubiously.

"Yes!" Mel exclaimed. "They wanted _evidence_ of something, and they were talking about authorization to search… it just doesn't make sense."

"No, not really." Bran's eyebrows furrowed. "Something about Shevraeth is just really strange."

"Nothing's about him is _strange_. He's a straight-up asshole," Mel retorted.

"_You're_ the one meeting up with his bandmate in…" Bran looked at the clock. "…a half-hour."

"Shit! A half-hour?" Mel asked incredously. She started rummaging around the room for her purse. "And anyway, it's not like anything's happening with us anyway. That's another strange thing. He acts weird."

Bran shrugged. "A mystery on tour will spice things up." He smiled mischievously. "And remember, have a good time, don't stay out too late, and always hold out until the third date otherwise he'll think you're ea-"

Mel cuffed him in the head on her way out.

She mulled all the mysteries over as she took the bus to the address Savona specified. Savona and Shevraeth needed information from somebody, but Shevraeth didn't like the way Savona was going about it. And they couldn't clue "her" in on it. What did that mean? She kept wishing she had heard the conversation earlier, or that they had kept talking longer.

Savona was waiting outside the address, _Clarke's Old-School Diner_. She grinned as she walked up.

"Doesn't any diner with "old-school" in its name automatically lose its old-school status?" she teased as she walked up. He grinned and ruffled her hair.

"Don't judge this place until you get inside," he said, and held the door open for her. She went inside, eyebrows furrowed. _Ruffling her hair_? She liked Savona, she did, but their relationship felt more familial than anything else. Bran ruffled her hair, her ex-boyfriends never did. Savona felt more like a brother, more like a friend, than anything else. And as good-looking as he was… Mel didn't feel anything more.

On the other hand, she fell in love with the diner at first sight. Really, it was a complete parody of a diner- waiters in rollerskates wore ripped-up miniskirts with fishnets; retro black-and-white linoleum floor competed for attention with graffiti etched into the antique oak tables. It was a complete mishmash that should have looked awful; instead, it looked comfortable and actually authentic.

Mel turned to Savona with a wide smile. He grinned back. "I _knew_ you'd like it," he said confidently. She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, because after a week you know everything about me," she replied tartly.

His smile turned enigmatic. "Enough," he said as they sat down at a table scarred with amateur etchings. "Besides, we'd heard about you long before you joined the tour."

Normally, Mel would be oblivious to hints in conversation, but after pondering over her "mystery", as Bran termed it, she was more alert.

"Who's this 'we'?" she asked, looking carefully at him. Having read mystery novels, she expected some sort of tension to appear in his body; some closed expression or surprise to register on his face or in his eyes.

He did none of that. "The band, of course," he replied easily, picking up his menu. "We're all fans of the Woods' music."

Of course, she knew_her_ face registered surprise. "The Woods?" she squeaked, looking at him. If he had been looking to completely throw her off-course, he couldn't have picked a better tactic.

"You know, your band," he teased. "What did Pitchfork call you? Effortlessly cool?"

"Something like that," she replied absently.

"That's probably the best complement those guys could give you," he said. "Seeing how they hunt down 'cool' like there's no tomorrow."

She gave him the reply she gave all interviewers who mentioned the labels reviewers had given them. "Look, we were called that because we were honestly not trying at all to be cool. We loved our music, and we loved making it, and I guess they saw that as "cool" or "hip" or whatever they called it. We just were what we were."

"Yeah, I get that," Savona said contemplatively. "People always think we're trying to pull off this hipster image when we are what we've always been. Our style came before we were even a band when we were in college trying to imitate all the SoHo kids, and now apparently we're setting the trends instead of following them. It's kind of a shock."

Mel laughed. "Well, you guys are pretty slick," she said. "You look so… put-together during concerts. We were always just crazy, trying to build that connection with the crowd, you know?"

Savona smiled at her. "We're just efficient. And then Tamara and Vidanric are complete introverts so it comes off like they're all aloof and cool when they really just don't talk much. I guess it works in our favor."

"You probably talk enough to make up for it, I bet," Mel replied, smiling at him. The waitress came, and as Savona ordered, Mel reflected that he had completely taken her mind off of her suspicions. She wanted to know who he wanted information from, who "she" was. She wanted to somehow persuade him to drop clues, let something important slip. But as ignorant as she was, she got the strong feeling he played this particular game much, much better than she.

"Well, Miss Mel, what do you think of our tour so far?" Savona asked. Mel raised her eyebrows.

"Well, Sir Savona, if you're insisting on alliterating…" She paused as she thought about it. "It's interesting."

She couldn't say anything like _fun_ or _good_, not when her fingers ached to be holding a guitar every time she put their guitars on their stands, not when her stomach felt like it had been punched every night when she thought of the concerts and hazy nights when _she_ had been on stage creating the magic.

"That's an evasive answer if I've ever heard one," Savona replied, grinning. She shrugged, hoping he wouldn't push further. "Do you miss running a label?"

"God no," Mel replied vehemently. "Well, I loved finding new bands and that part of it. But the administrative crap…"

"Tax forms and red tape?" Savona asked.

"Yeah, all that."

"You could have given it to your brother," he said, playing with the straw in his drink.

She laughed. "Aric would have been even worse," she replied. "It's okay, I hired somebody."

"Did that help?" he asked, tilting his head. Mel frowned for a moment. This was the most serious conversation she had ever had with Savona. She could understand anybody else asking these questions, but not somebody as light-hearted as Savona. The past minute was a complete aberration from their past conversations.

She took a long drink to avoid answering his question, and almost choked as a sudden thought occurred to her- was it _her_?

That "she" they couldn't clue in? They needed information… from her?

"Mel?" She dragged her eyes up to Savona, who was looking at her with concern. Did he look a little wary? Or was she just overly suspicious?

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to pull her thoughts together. "I just… spaced out, I guess." She tried a smile. She needed to be alone so she could think. "Hey, I'm going to run to the bathroom, real quick. Holler if our food comes, I don't want you eating all of mine." She gave him a wide grin and completely ignored his reply as she walked to the bathroom.

She hoisted herself up onto the counter in the bathroom, screwed her eyes shut, and thought about the conversation she had overheard only this afternoon. Shevraeth had said something about not liking "the way" Russav was going about something. Russav had replied saying that it was the only way he could think of because they couldn't get an authorization to search and clue "her" in… he said they had to get information, that it would be evidence for something.

So they needed information, and Russav was doing something to get it. Shevraeth didn't like what Russav was doing, but Russav thought it was the only alternative because what he wanted to do- search and clue "her" in- was impossible.

Was Savona's sudden attention of her what he was doing to get information? She chewed on her lip. She didn't know what information she had that would give them anything. What did she know that could be evidence?

She hopped up off the counter. She wasn't sure of any of her theories, but until she did, she would have to tread carefully.

* * *

**Dear Readers:** Thank you for the reviews. This story (affectionately referred to as my crack!fic) is dear to my heart, as slowly as the chapters are updated. I'm sorry about that, but in my defense, I am a full-time student, try to keep a normal life- and I'm doing better than J.K. Rowling did, right? This quarter was my first at college and so many great bands came by that I got to see: Stars, The Hold Steady, Justice, Voxtrot... in many ways, these great bands and their _amazing_ concerts keep inspiring me and this fic.

Some explanations: Pitchfork Media is a website that is pretty much Indie Music Central, although it is accused of being a little too hipster and elite. The Woods' music is described as being "polished bar band" – this is shamelessly stolen from The Hold Steady, often referred to as America's greatest bar band. The description of Mel's "delicate" voice is inspired by Amy Millan's voice, of the band Stars. Mixing those two bands up into one imaginary one is completely contradictory if you listen to their music, but I like to think that the combination would be awesome! Sub Pop, which The Woods originally sign to before creating their own Counterfeit Records, is a well-known indie label based out of Seattle. It's signed bands like Nirvana, Death Cab for Cutie, and The Shins. The name of the imaginary Clarke's Old-School Diner is stolen from the very real Clarke's Diner in the Belmont neighborhood of Chicago, although the imaginary diner's atmosphere is completely different.

Keep listening to great music, keep reviewing, and I'll try to get the next chapter out as soon as I can. Peace.


	4. Chapter 4

Savona had gotten nowhere near Mel's room the night before. She had been confused by her epiphany and withdrawn. He hadn't pushed her at all; in fact, when he walked her to her room all he did was kiss her cheek and stride away, which only made her even more suspicious. And, admittedly, pretty grateful.

So she was a little surprised when he slid in next to her on the bus.

She had been even more surprised two weeks earlier when she had discovered that the band and the roadies shared the same tour bus- a spacious double-decker, but the same one nonetheless. She had expected such a big band to have their own bus, or a trailer or… something. Still, there was a seating pattern in place- nothing enforced or anything, but obeyed all the same. Kind of like her high school cafeteria, the roadies often hung out on the lower level while the band occupied the top level. Deric was the band member to come down the most; he spent at least half his time hanging out with roadies, as did Savona. Tamara would come down infrequently and spent most her time with Nee, and so far Mel had yet to witness Shevraeth spending any time on the bottom level beyond a smile and a casual wave as he passed through to get to the stairs. Snobbish, but what else did she expect out of him?

"The card game's over there," she said, gesturing at Bran and some others involved in an intense game of poker. She was on her laptop, and most of the other roadies had learned that she usually wanted to be left alone whenever her laptop was up.

"Oh, I know," he said blithely. Mel rolled her eyes. She would consider most people who invaded her solitude after an obvious hint as intrusive, but she was quickly learning that Savona simply exuded charm. He didn't say much, but just the mischievous way he smiled made her forgive him.

"Alright, then, so what's so interesting over here?" she patiently asked.

"He's too suave to say, 'You', but I'll say it," chimed in Deric as he slipped into the seat across from her.

"I… feel cornered," Mel replied, grinning. Savona responded by draping an arm around her shoulders.

"We're saving you from your own little world," Deric said cheerily. Mel closed her laptop and looked expectantly at him.

"Alright, then, so what's so great about yours?" she asked.

"Oh, don't close your laptop. I wanted to spy on what you do on there," Savona said, reaching for it. Mel responded by sticking it in her backpack.

"Nothing interesting," she said. "E-mail, writing, work…"

They left after that. Sure, not immediately, Mel noticed. They bantered awhile, teasing her and each other before getting up and heading back upstairs. But she was still suspicious. Her laptop? What was on there?

* * *

"It's got everything, I'm _sure_," Savona growled in frustration. "And she's what, five-two? And she's guarding it like a pit bull."

"It would make it more reasonable if she was a seven-foot bouncer?" Vidanric asked in amusement.

"Savona's just frustrated that a _woman_ is in his way," Tamara drawled from a few seats back. "It does annoy him." Savona shot her an irritated glare.

"It's a sad day when I'm the one telling everyone to get back on-track," Deric said, casting a skeptical gaze on the pair. "If it's on her laptop, we need to get it. And I'm still for clueing her in."

"She's too volatile," Tamara responded immediately.

"Debegri shut down her record label and her band. She _lives_ for music. I think she'd be happier than any of us to see him get thrown in jail," Savona retorted.

"She wouldn't believe us," Danric said quietly. "She already hates me, I think she still doesn't trust you, Savona… we'd have to show her proof that she doesn't have clearance for and we're not going to get. Maybe we'd get it for somebody more low-profile, but she's… too much a loose cannon."

His cell rang in the silence that fell after his statement. He checked the caller ID and winced. "It's Debegri."

"Go on, take it," Tamara urged, looking a little tense. Danric took a breath, switched characters, and pressed Talk.

"Darry," Vidanric said with fake cheer, "Good to talk to you."

"Mr. Shevraeth," came the loud voice. Vidanric resisted the urge to wince and soldiered on.

"How many times do I have to tell you, man," he drawled, in the awful alternate voice he kept around for these occasions, "It's Vidanric." This alternate-Vidanric was somebody who wore eyeliner, who drank too much every night and flirted obnoxiously with girls in pseudo-hipster clothing. Vidanric hated the guy.

"Ha, I'll remember that. How are you? Getting to Boston now?"

"Yep," he said shortly. "We're playing tonight."

"At that small club? Avalon? Dan, I really think you should book bigger clubs," Debegri replied cheerfully. "Anyway, I heard that Mel T. and her brother are working for you now."

Vidanric tensed. "Yeah," he said, forcing his voice to be casual. "Just…ah, some entertainment."

Debegri laughed loudly and nastily. "Good, I like that sort of thinking," he said. "I'm sure they're humiliated."

They talked for a few more minutes before Danric contrived an excuse to hang up. He scowled and shoved into his pocked.

"What did he want?" Savona asked curiously.

"Just wanted to make me feel like an awful excuse for a human being," Vidanric replied tersely. "He knows we have Mel and Aric."

All their eyebrows went up. "How did he find that out?" Tamara asked.

"No idea," Danric said. "But we've got to treat them much more cautiously from now on. I don't want Debegri noticing us hanging around them. Savona, you should probably lay off."

"How are we going to get the information from Aric and Mel, then?"

"No idea."

They were all silent for a moment. "Would anyone close to her believe us without giving them any concrete proof?" Deric said. "Aric?"

"Too close to her," Danric said. "He doesn't share all her hatred, but he wouldn't trust us either."

"Nee?" Tamara asked. "We go pretty far back."

Savona lifted his eyebrows. "That's true. She toured with the Woods and I think there's something going on between her and Aric."

"Tour romance?" Deric asked mischievously. "Our very own Miley Cyrus and Nick Jonas."

"I can't believe you just said that," Tamara said, looking vaguely horrified.

"We're still taking a risk with Nee," Danric interjected. "Let's try to get at her laptop for one more week. If we can't do it discreetly, we'll ask Nee for help. Sounds good?"

Everyone nodded.

* * *

What with the intricate plotting, the double-life and the two jobs it came with, the late concerts and the later parties, Vidanric felt like a robot. On Friday afternoon, he walked into the club downing some energy drink that Debegri had signed a contract with. _Rehearsal, _his mind chanted. _Make sure everyone has the new set list. Call Debegri to check up on the new tour dates. Read over new recon report. Talk-_ he threw his head up in surprise as he entered the main room. Sitting on an empty stage, Mel cradled one of their acoustic guitars, plucking and playing an intricate folksy tune. As he watched, she continued into a particularly tricky part, then broke off.

"Damnit," she swore. She set the guitar carefully aside, getting up, then visibly started as she caught sight of him. For a moment, they were silent, just staring at each other. Finally, Danric forced himself to walk forward casually.

"I guess being pale and blond doesn't help me camouflage into the dark," he remarked lightly. She stood there stiffly for a beat longer than necessary, then jerkily grabbed the guitar.

"How long were you there?" she asked abruptly.

"Not long," he replied. Another silence ensued.

"Where are the others?"

"Lunch break," she said. "They haven't eaten since this morning so they're eating some takeout outside."

"And you… aren't hungry?" he asked. She looked at him with a measured look that belied her uneasy posture. Finally, she shrugged and turned away, busying herself with the equipment.

It struck him: she was hungry. But when the rest of the crew and band left for lunch, she had some alone time with the equipment. Worrying about keeping them secret from Debegri, he had neglected to think about what Aric and Mel might be needing.

"It's been over a month since our first conversation, right?" he asked purposefully.

"I wouldn't call that a conversation," she muttered, and he threw her a small smile.

"Look, if you want to use the equipment, go ahead. Anytime," he said. She put down a stand and crossed her arms.

"Why?" she asked defiantly. Vidanric sighed. She was Mel T., after all.

"I saw you once, back at the Knitting Room in L.A.," he finally said. "You were good."

He walked away from her, not daring to look back, remembering that night.

She and the Woods were more than good. After months of prep work, Vidanric and the Midways had just come to Debegri's attention. Hoping to sign them, Debegri had given him tickets to the Woods concert. Danric knew that if the FBI's suspicions about Debegri were right, this was a band that was facing imminent ruin. But he still went.

She had sauntered onto the stage, channeling David Bowie with a loose top and silver leggings tucked into boots. Glitter had been tossed in her hair and on her cheeks and he could barely make out her face over the sparkle.

She had been ferocious. She was the leader of the new brand of women in rock, wiser than Joni Mitchell and the 70s girls, more grounded than Madonna, but tougher than the girls who had started Lillith Fair in the 90s. She had owned the stage, and her band had been swept along with her. The crowd, half of them already drunk or high, went crazy. He had stood there poleaxed as she had glittered under the stage lights.

The next day, the Midways had signed with Counterfeit Records. With Vidanric's guilt operating at a high, they managed to avoid meeting Mel or Bran. Six months later, they bankrupted Counterfeit, and by extension, the Woods.

And it had taken him until now to realize that not only had he taken her record label and her band, he had taken her equipment, and by extension, her music. He felt shaken as he walked away. He had justified it, could still justify it… but he hadn't faced what he had done until now.

She had cradled that guitar like it was her salvation.

---

It had never been easy, never. She had walked into his life in four-inch boots and a supermodel stride. He'd known she was trouble, but he couldn't seem to stay away. He'd managed to hold out until an apartment party a month later, where he miraculously found her alone outside, smoking a clove cigarette. Moth to the flame.

He had smiled at her and sat down without saying anything. He didn't think any person could even get near her fashion-magazine beauty, but he'd gotten his fair share of attention over recent years. And he knew that the one thing that actually got his attention was someone who wouldn't give him any.

She had stared at him curiously as he shoved his hands in his pockets and simply gazed out at the neighborhood. He waited her out.

"Can I help you with something?" she finally asked. He looked at her casually.

"Naw," he said. "Just…" He waved negligently at the din inside. She smiled; he had to remind himself to breathe normally.

"You seem like the kinda guy who likes a little chaos," she said, her voice lower and a practiced smirk on her face. It was a blatant invitation and they both knew it. He debated how to answer for a moment. In the third miracle of his hormone-drenched eighteen-year old life, he had held back.

"Sure I do. I have no idea what kind of girl you seem like though," he said frankly, giving her what he hoped was a friendly smile.

His tacit offer of friendship had been both the best and worst idea of his life. Now, years later, and friendship, love, sex, countless arguments and even more implicit understandings later, he stood looking at the girl who wreaked so much havoc on his life. Forget moth to the flame, she was a fucking hurricane.

"Are you going to keep looking at me, Savona? Because if you are, come over here and help me," she said tartly, not looking up from where she was seated on the floor in a sea of white papers.

"What are you organizing?" he asked.

"Old reports," she said. "Danric's too busy and I feel like a complete tool doing nothing. I'm separating the ones on the Woods from the others and ordering them by date." Typical Tamara. Underneath the veneer of an insouciant glamour-girl was one who was meticulous, ambitious, and driven to accomplish.

As he sorted through the sheaf of papers he had grabbed, he mulled over the situation at hand. For once, he couldn't see clearly. It seemed he and Tamara were always fighting, but somewhere along the line, he had started to get tired and she had started to get vicious. Were they done with this? He was out of heroic gestures, if he had ever made any good ones. He was tired. For the first time since he saw her, he thought longingly of some other anonymous girl, somebody who'd be less prickly, less beautiful.

"Hey, Tam," he said quietly. "What now?"

She knew exactly what he meant. Damn, he'd miss that with other girls. Her hands stilled for a moment, hovering over the papers before she started moving them again.

"Dunno," she said simply. "I don't know if I can…"

He let out a hard breath. "Yeah. Yeah, me too."

"We tried longer than some people stay married," she said wryly. "It's just I've got my…" She'd never say it out loud, never admit to what haunted her. "…you know, and you've got your own..."

Tamara was being suddenly vague, something she'd never done before, and he was suddenly irritated. "My what?" he said sharply. She looked at him, and her eyes were as keen as ever.

"You're a California guy," she said shortly. "You're not the person to deal with high-maintenance. It's not in your personality. I was grinding away at you."

He felt exhausted suddenly, and it only proved her point. "I suppose I did the same to you," he said quietly.

She fiddled with the papers. "You just made…. it seem worse," she said frankly. "You were so chill, so why couldn't I be? Figures in all of New York, I found the one person who was actually laid-back."

"So… that's it?"

"I guess."

"After six years…"

"You want a fucking good-bye kiss?" Startled, he realized that she _was_ shook-up. Lately, he'd gotten worse at reading Tamara. Probably a sign. A flash of hot anguish streaked through him as he wondered who would take care of her now. He remembered Danric entering the hotel room that awful night he had grabbed her. The thought made him feel even worse. He got up slowly.

"No," he said shortly. "I want a drink."

He walked out, leaving behind the only person who was making him feel like shit, the only person who could have made him feel better… if only they both could change in ways they couldn't.

* * *

Two hours later, Savona and his bottle of Crown Royal were eavesdropping on Nee and Mel as they unpacked the band's equipment for the sound test that afternoon. He really hadn't been meaning to, but he had been lounging on the balcony above the stage when they walked in, and he hadn't been in the mood to interact with them, so he had stayed quiet. The women talked about other roadies on the tour and some bands that they wanted to check out, which was the usual stuff that Savona overheard. A natural-born gossip, he sometimes wondered if his penchant for ferreting out random pieces of information was the real reason Vidanric had asked him to join this assignment.

"So… I think I've got some good news," Mel said, her voice muffled as she rummaged in a box.

"Oh yeah?"

"Some guy from Pitchfork e-mailed me yesterday about my blog," she said. Savona may have been buzzed, but there was no mistaking the excitement in her voice.

"Pitchfork?" Nee asked. "Oh, wow. What did they want?"

"Well, I did some interviews and whatever for them, so they were vaguely interested in getting me on full-time. But they didn't make an offer or anything, they just said that they wanted to talk to me about it sometime. But still!"

Nee squealed. "That's great! I'm sure it will work out, your blog is so much fun to read!"  
Mel laughed. "Thanks. I'm hoping so much that it does… I mean, this hell would be over if it works out. I can send in my letter of resignation, go back home, go back to hating Shevraeth from a distance…"

"Vidanric's not that bad, Mel," Nee admonished. When there was no answer from Mel, she sighed. "Well, there's no convincing you. I swear, even Aric is flexible in comparison."

Mel laughed. "I've been meaning to ask, since I'm the epitome of tactful and subtle inquiry, what's up with you and my brother?"

Savona smirked. He was _always_ right about these things. He only wished he had bet with somebody about his hunch and at least made some money off of it.

Nee did some amateur evasions as Savona looked at his bottle wistfully. He had made plans with the whiskey for the rest of the day, but with Mel's bombshell disclosure, they would have to wait. Vidanric would want to hear about this, and Savona already knew how he would react.

* * *

"Pitchfork? They've never had a permanent blogger before," Vidanric said, frowning. "Is there any way we can get in touch with them and see if this is true without making them suspicious?"

"I could call and say I heard rumors that they were luring away our roadie," Russav offered. He seemed entirely unenthusiastic; Russav usually acted like an overexcited puppy whenever he had to do something for this operation. Danric suspected that his inner eleven-year-old was thrilled that he was working undercover.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked abruptly. His eyes finally caught what Savona had in his hand. "And why are you holding a bottle of Crown at…" He looked at his watch. "…three in the afternoon?"

"Tamara and I, over," Russav replied shortly. "Permanent, for real this time, no repeats."

Vidanric hid his shock. "When?"

"About two hours ago," he said. "We just can't keep doing this, and both of us know it. It'll be good."

"Which is why you're clutching the whiskey like a baby does its bottle," Vidanric said dryly, and then decided to drop the matter. The expression on Russav's face was bad enough.

"Okay, you get in touch with Pitchfork, maybe through that lady who interviewed us last year, when we were still with Counterfeit?" he said, his mind turning back to his problem. "If it's true… we've got to tell Nee."

It took Savona an hour to wheedle the answers out of one Dominique Leone. It should have taken half that time, but Savona was either off his game or Dominique was one tough chick. Vidanric phoned Al and explained the situation. He quickly agreed that briefing Nee was a necessary risk. Vidanric had been fairly sure that his boss would agree, so the conversation was brief. He looked over at Savona, who was still wheedling and charming, and decided to grab some food.

Going out in public involved acting more like a movie undercover agent than the one he actually was. After stealing Savona's hoodie and sunglasses, he hunted around for a baseball cap for a good ten minutes, finally borrowing one from a confused janitor. He slunk out of the club and successfully hit up a Subway. Walking back though, he caught a few people looking at him strangely. Once a few teenage girls openly gaped at him, he started walking faster. He felt like he had crossed an imaginary finish line as he slipped back inside the club.

"Escaped your fangirls?" drawled an amused voice. Vidanric turned around to see Savona.

"There were some potential ones," he replied. "Got a sandwich for you 'cause I knew you'd eat mine if I didn't."

"You were running away from _potential_ fangirls," Savona repeated. "That is sad."

"You know what's really sad?" Vidanric asked politely. "My sandwich is not yet eaten. That's so sad it could be a Nicholas Sparks novel. Move."

Savona obligingly followed as Vidanric found a table backstage. "Also," Danric added belatedly. "It's kind of sad that it took more than a half-hour to ferret an answer out of Dominique."

Savona spoke around a huge bite of his sub. "Dominique is a complex woman, okay? They take time. Copious amounts of subtle compliments and indirect challenges."

"I can't believe you're making _me_ say this," Danric said painfully, "But… you're Russav Savona."

"Ha," Savona said, smirking. "I finally got you to admit it."

Danric rolled his eyes. "Okay, so you know, that job we do that pays our bills? That we try to do occasionally? That warranted your deep intellectual conversation with Dominique? It needs an answer."

"Yeah," Savona said, and took a long gulp of soda.

"Yeah?" Danric echoed. "Thanks, huge help."

"They want to start talks with her. The managing editor, Mark Somebody, has been pretty much in love with her since she was in the Woods, and then he stumbled on her blog, and he liked the combination of name recognition and the way she writes. So they want her to become kind of their first blogger, but in order to not kind of start this slippery slope of hiring bloggers, they want her to focus on something specific, but they haven't figured it out yet. But they've e-mailed her."

"And knowing how much she loves us, she'll probably come up with ten great ideas right away so she can get the hell out of here," Vidanric said darkly. "Burn it."

Savona nodded. "Nee better have some leverage here, or we'll have to resort to holding the girl hostage and stealing her laptop or something."

"She'd probably cut through the ropes with her teeth, she's that determined to see things her way," Danric reflected. "Alright. Nee. Our last hope at this."

"Well, seeing her lie about hooking up with Mel's brother doesn't give me too much optimism," Savona said sagely, and took another huge bite of his sandwich. "She was a terrible liar. Even Mel saw through her."

They both lapsed into silence.

* * *

Nee looked confused as she came into the room, and Danric really couldn't blame her. The entire band was assembled in the dressing room.

"...Hi?"

"Hey, Nee," Savona said. "Sorry, this looks incredibly intimidating. Guys, relax."

"Me? I'm always relaxed," Deric replied. "It's Mara and Danric that are all tense."

"This situation is _serious_," Tamara snapped. "I guess Danric and I are the only ones who actually want to work at our jobs."

"Yeah, me and Deric are just along for shits and giggles," Savona replied sarcastically.

"Uh, guys," Vidanric said quietly. "Remember Nee?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry," Deric said sheepishly.

"It's okay," Nee said, the confused expression still on her face.

"Who wants to tell her?" Deric asked. "I don't."

"Not me," Savona replied quickly.

Nee's face was now pale, and Vidanric grew exasperated. "Guys!" he said sharply. "You're making Nee even more nervous. Stop it."

They all fell silent for a moment.

"The silence is worse," Nee said. "Just spit it out. Am I fired?"

"God, no!" Tamara exclaimed. "We're not about to do something as stupid as that!"

"No, we're just going to tell her that we're FBI agents and she needs to spy for us," Savona said dryly.

Another moment of silence.

"Well, thanks for telling her," Vidanric said briskly. "I know that what he said sounds really stupid, but it's true, Nee."

"You're... FBI agents? I'm sorry- What do- I'm-" She spluttered into silence.

"I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it's kind of true," Deric replied.

"Where are your…uh, badges?" Vidanric could see that she was on the verge of laughter rather than belief.

"I left mine in my hotel room," Deric said.

"Me too," Tamara said.

"Mine's somewhere around here..." Savona started looking in his bags. "They're so small they get lost all the time."

"While Savona's looking for proof," Danric interrupted dryly. "Maybe we should explain the entire story."

"Please do," Nee replied, looking remarkably composed. "Because I'm a little confused as to why the FBI would require its agents to form a _band_."

Savona and Tamara exchanged wry looks. "Oh, no worries. We were too," Deric replied cheerily.

"Well," Tamara said slowly, a frown marring her face, "I suppose we should start at the beginning."

"Well, we joined the FBI in-"

"No, we should start at Columbia," Savona interrupted. He held up a small leather object and tossed it to Nee. She slowly opened it and looked at the badge inside.

"Well," Tamara said, shooting a glare at Savona. "Savona, Danric and I met at Columbia. Once we graduated Savona started working for the World Bank. I was doing secretary work while I tried to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, and Vidanric… well, we thought he wasn't really doing anything."

"A few months later, though, he told us that he had been working for the FBI, doing research on the film industry in California. He recruited us for his next project because we were in a band at Columbia, kind of as an extracurricular thing."

"We weren't really serious about it," Vidanric continued. "We played at a few coffeeshops, that sort of thing. But the FBI had switched me to a new project with the music industry, and I thought Savona and Tamara could help me out."

"How did you get involved with the FBI?" Nee asked curiously.

Vidanric's face shuttered. "I can't tell you that," he said slowly. "But anyway, I had done the initial research and the only feasible way for me to get more information would be to go undercover. I proposed this to my boss and he approved the project. So I got Savona and Tamara in."

"We were, obviously, intrigued," Savona said, grinning. "For me, it was more interesting than what I was doing at the Bank. So we joined, and Danric told us that we were going to form a band. We found out pretty quickly that we needed a drummer."

"Which is where I come in!" Deric interjected, grinning.  
Tamara rolled her eyes, but her tone was affectionate. "Deric was Vidanric and Savona's little tag-along in college. We all put up with him, God knows why."

"I prefer the term acolyte," Deric said loftily.

"Our young padawan," Savona joked.

"Anyway, we recruited him into the project too," Vidanric said.

"What is this project about?" Nee asked quietly.

They all looked to Vidanric. He thought over his words before speaking carefully. "We suspect somebody of illegal activities with record labels and bands." He looked apologetically at her. "That's all I can really say."

"And you think I can help you with this?" Nee asked.

"You might have noticed, but when we hired Meliara and Aric Tlanth… we didn't really need the extra help."

Something in Nee's face closed. "You think Mel and Aric are… doing something illegal?"

"No!" Vidanric burst out. He looked to the others for help, trying to hide his discomfort.

"No, not at all," Savona rushed in, raising his eyebrows at Vidanric's rare show of emotion. "We think they were victims of our suspect."

"You mean…" Nee's face tensed as she worked out details and discrepancies in her head. Her eyes widened.

"We can't say anything," Vidanric said softly. "And we would strongly advise you not to, as well." Nee looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded.

"But Mel has some information we need, and that's where you come in," Tamara said.

"We can't directly approach Mel for what she has, for obvious reasons," Savona said. "As well as the fact that she finds us… not particularly appealing."

Nee threw a quick glance at Vidanric. The meaning didn't escape him; if Mel didn't find the entire band appealing, she found him to be utterly despicable.

"We're giving you a lot of leeway here," Vidanric said. "We're also taking a significant risk."

"So don't fuck up?" Nee asked, smiling a little. He smiled back.

"Exactly."

"And if you could get us her laptop, that would be _great_!" Deric chimed in.

"Laptop, don't fuck up, blank check?" Nee said. "Does that about sum it up?"

They all nodded. "And are the Punk'd cameras about to show up now?" she asked. "Is Ashton Kutcher hiding under the cushions."

"No, I'm afraid this little comedy is all ours," Tamara said.

Deric lifted a cushion and gestured at the empty space beneath.

"Sorry, guess you don't get to meet Ashton today," Savona said, grinning at Nee. "We know you really wanted to."

Nee stood silent for a moment, and then a slow smile bloomed across her face. "No, no, I think this is much better," she said. "FBI agents. Jesus fucking Christ. A _band_."

"Uh, remember the 'significant risk' part of my speech," Vidanric interjected. She grinned at me.

"No worries," she said breezily. "Nobody would believe me anyway."

"That…" Vidanric trailed off. "That… is quite true."

A knock on their dressing room door startled them. "The opening band's two songs from finished," the club manager said, barging in. "And Nimiar, they need you in the booth, the girl who was there had to help with the equipment."

"Back to work," Nee said. "Well, it was a great chat, guys, let's do it again soon."

"Like, tomorrow morning soon," Tamara said. "We can throw you some guidance."

"Briefings," Nee said. "Sweet. I feel like I'm in _Alias_. Bye!"

Deric broke the silence first. "I don't know if that made me feel better or worse about the situation," he said contemplatively.

"Well, she's got enthusiasm," Savona said, smiling.

"Gotta stay positive," Tamara said.

"O_kay_," Vidanric replied, not wanting to think about it. "Set list. Where? We've got a show to put on and I don't think the people out there give a shit about our other job."

"Now _this_ is the part I like," Deric said, and they squabbled for the next five minutes about the song order.

* * *

Shevraeth walked up and stood next her. She didn't bother to acknowledge him, and he stayed perfectly still.

The teenagers in the crowd tonight were rambunctious, and she watched them idly, watching them pairing off and starting that awkward ritual that defined everyone's adolescence.

"Boys and girls in America…" she murmured.

"…have such a sad time together," he said. She ignored him still. He cleared his throat politely. "Are you a fan of Kerouac?"

"It's a lyric from the Hold Steady," she said snidely.

"I believe it's from _On The Road_."

" '_There are nights when I think Sal Paradise was right,_' " Mel sang at him. " '_Boys and girls in America, they have such a sad time together.'_ "

"Sal Paradise is the main character of _On The Road_," Vidanric said, and Mel could see the hints of a smile on his carefully composed face.

"Urrrgh," she growled incoherently. "No _wonder_ we hate each other."

He paused for a long moment. "You say tomato?" he finally asked, his face completely deadpan.

She stood dumbstruck for a moment, and he strode on stage. As the club erupted in noise and he proceeded to charm the crowd, she reluctantly let herself smile.

Anyway, one joke didn't redeem a person's character. And neither did their seemingly-altruistic offer of free equipment. Mel quashed the uncomfortable feelings that were gnawing at her stomach. _Bastard_. Right.

* * *

Anybody still reading this? I hope so! I'm so horrific at updating that I hope everybody still remembers the plotline… I'm still excited about this story, though, so it will keep going… just at its usual glacial pace. Oh, and the Dominique that Savona wheedles answers out of does actually work at Pitchfork, I found her name on the website. Also, when Tamara says "Gotta stay positive" it's a sneaky little reference to the Hold Steady. They're touring right now, and they're amazing. Check 'em out.

Please let me know what you think about where the story's headed; review button below! Thx.


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